


Being a Queen (then and now)

by Jules_Ink



Series: the Vegas!verse [7]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Family bonding with time, Gen, Interlude, Starling's Royality, Two-Shot, Vegas!Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules_Ink/pseuds/Jules_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carrying the family name 'Queen' comes with a certain reputation, with responsibilities and expectations. It takes special women to live up to it—in any given situation. (Interlude accompanying What Happened in Vegas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July 17th, 2008

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank you enough for all your support. The love you*re sending my way is amazing. I’m delighted that you enjoy the Vegas!verse so much.
> 
> The side story is dedicated to **Lazy Shinka** over at ff.net who was interested in getting insight in Felicity’s life before Oliver returned and to the wonderful **perckious** who asked for a glimpse into Moira’s mind and how her perception of Felicity changed. Those two are to blame, but I’m grateful for the inspiration that led to this. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> And since I never post anything not **Albiona** -approved: thanks to the Duchess of Awesome for her approval and sticking with me throughout this whole ‘verse. It’s been a lot, but it’s been fun taking this trip with you. Thank you.
> 
> Happy reading, everybody. Love, Jules

**July 17 th, 2008**  
  
Moira Queen had come to MIT to keep up appearances.  
  
It wasn’t her first trip to an internationally known university to take care of an inconveniency that, if it were allowed to come to the public’s attention, might damage the family’s reputation.  
  
But it was the first time Thea was inconveniencing her.  
  
And it was the first time that Moira Queen’s personal reputation was at stake.  
  
If word ever got out that she hadn’t known her thirteen year old daughter took the family jet to fly across the country to meet the woman who was, from a legal point of view and to the public eye, her daughter-in-law, the press would have a field day questioning her capability as a mother. Not to mention the scrutiny she’d have to face at the Annual Breast Cancer Awareness Breakfast scheduled for Sunday.  
  
Moira Queen knew she didn’t have the best reputation, but nobody had ever called her a ‘bad mother.’ And if there was one label she couldn’t live with, it was that one.  
  
She already had to live with being called many other names, a woman trying to find her footing in a male-dominated field. Behavior taken as strength and willpower if shown by a male CEO was considered bitchy or menopausal (because she was past forty) when it came to Moira Queen, acting CEO of Queen Consolidated.  
  
Luckily, Walter Steele would soon be appointed CEO of the family’s Fortune 500 company. Moira didn’t have the slightest doubt that the board would unanimously vote him into the position. (Most people supported the decision to put a capable businessman like Walter in charge. The others had been paid to come to the right opinion.) The Queen matriarch was very much looking forward to stepping down. She wasn’t made to navigate the rough waters of the business sector; her expertise lay in social world.  
  
Even though, being in charge of Queen Consolidated had granted her the opportunity to disguise some very personal investments as business transactions. Her financial consultant believed she had embezzled money; the wink accompanying his goodbye after their last meeting had made that perfectly clear. As if a few millions more or less made any difference when it came to the Queens and their taxes. Moira hadn’t corrected the misunderstanding. In fact, she had encouraged it with a wink of her own.  
  
The less people knew about her search for the wreck of the _Queen’s Gambit_ , the better.  
  
She had to keep the circle as small as possible to ensure that Malcolm Merlyn didn’t find out about her try to prove his involvement in the deaths of Robert and Oliver Queen. The leftovers of the _Queen’s Gambit_ were leverage. Moira Queen needed to think about such things now, had to strategize and think ahead a few steps to win a deadly game she didn’t know all the rules of.  
  
Moira Queen needed to think of the family yacht as leverage. If she dared to acknowledge the fact that the boat had been the place her husband and her son had taken their last breaths, she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the mornings.  
  
Bombing the _Gambit_ had been a statement. Malcolm Merlyn had made it perfectly clear to Moira Queen that he didn’t hesitate to kill her loved ones. He had ripped the two men her world revolved around from her without any remorse. Malcolm had come to her home, looked her dead in the eye, and confessed. He had laid his actions out for her in great detail. Calmly, calculatingly, without any emotion, he had told her what type of bomb he had used, what kind of timer, and that the storm brewing that night had been nothing but a lucky coincidence. Malcolm had actually used that word when informing her about his unfathomable actions: a lucky coincidence. The man she once had a brief but passionate affair with had also told her how he had found out about Robert Queen’s plan to deceive him. That was another word Moira Queen would never forget: deceit. When all her beloved Robert had tried to do was save the lives of thousands of innocents, because his (once unfaithful) wife Moira begged him to.  
  
Ultimately, Moira Queen was to blame.  
  
Righting her wrongs had become an obsession in the last months, especially after the unexpected and tragic death of the unborn little ray of hope they had been granted. Her grandson, the last piece left of her Oliver, died before taking his first breath, adding to the pain and mourning in the Queen household. After that faithful day in March, Moira had come to realize that she couldn’t continue hoping for better times, for something good following the horror of the past months. (It had been exactly 320 days since she had last seen her husband and her son, standing on the pier waving them off as the _Gambit_ headed toward the sunset.)  
  
Moira Queen had to take the protection of her loved one into her own hands.  
  
Sadly, while she had been busy doing _that_ , that exact loved one had managed to sneak off and travel roughly 3,000 miles from Starling City to Cambridge.  
  
Moira hadn’t noticed her daughter Thea was gone and hadn’t been able to hide that fact from the woman her Oliver (whom she loved despite his outrageous indecencies) had married in a drunken frenzy. Felicity had called her and told her not to worry, because Thea was with her, realizing full well that Moira hadn’t worried at all before receiving that call.  
  
The humiliation left the Queen Matriarch seething.  
  
There was only one thing Moira could do once she and Thea were back in Starling: she had to fire the pilot. How could that man think she would approve of her teenage daughter travelling alone across the country? Sometimes the idiocy of subordinates baffled her.  
  
But nobody knew about it except for Moira, Thea, Felicity, and the pilot. The circle wouldn’t grow beyond that. Her employee had signed a non-disclosure agreement. And if the last months had proven one thing, it was that her unwanted daughter-in-law was discrete—a character trait Moira greatly approved of.  
  
The taxi stopped in front of the apartment building Moira had accepted as suitable for somebody carrying the Queen name. Living in—let alone sharing—a dorm room was unthinkable with her family’s social standing. The massive stone building housed four spacious apartments, which might be big for a college student but were actually quite small for a Queen. (“Understated” had been the word used in Starling City’s gossip pages, a description never before associated with the Queen-family.)  
  
Moira Queen paid the driver and—realizing that he didn’t make a move to round the car and open the door for her—got out of the taxi. Her purse in the crook of her elbow, Moira crossed the sidewalk and walked up the five massive stone stairs leading to the building. MIT’s campus was only a short walk away. The young people passing by on the sidewalk, huge bags slung around their shoulders, folders or books pressed to their chests, showed its proximity. Moira was aware that the students studied her and she noted them out of the corner of her eyes. One young woman was even brazen enough to take a picture as Moira pressed the only doorbell without a name.  
  
Judging from the amount of gossip on Felicity Queen, photographing, stalking, and selling unfounded speculations as truth had turned into a quite popular hobby among MIT’s students. Moira Queen’s EA kept her boss updated about all rumors circulating involving the Queen-name, more than 90 percent of them about Felicity Queen.  
  
Moira Queen had consulted her lawyers to appraise the chances of winning a libel suit. The most likely case regardedthe abortion rumor going around, because there was clear evidence to refute it. Moira longed to do that, to shut up Tommy Merlyn, her deceased son’s best friend, who had invented that horrible lie, who befouled the memory of her grandson, a Queen heir, in the most despicable way.  
  
That boy was a true Merlyn.  
  
Which was the only reason Moira didn’t dare to challenge him. Who knew what his father would do? Or his son. Tommy Merlyn had been there in Las Vegas during that fateful night her Oliver had made yet another poor, inebriated decision. Tommy knew the truth and could set fire to the web of lies Moira had spun to save her own son’s reputation, to turn her grandson into a child created by love (and not by whatever had made her son look like a drunken fool on those pictures she hadn’t been able to buy out before they were published.)  
  
She had never told Felicity about that consultation, because Moira had decided against suing a Merlyn—and all other legal actions were futile. According to her legal team, MIT’s campus was a public place and taking pictures there wasn’t breaking any laws. Felicity would have to deal with it until graduation. Even if, experiencing the offhandedness of those student-paparazzi, Moira had to admit that it was fairly unpleasant.  
  
“Yes?” Finally, Felicity’s voice came out of the speaker.  
  
Aware of the people walking behind her, Moira added a happy ease to her voice she didn’t feel and said, with a smile. “Felicity, dear, it’s Moira.”  
  
The buzzer hummed instantly. Moira fought to keep the smile in place. Felicity should have added at least a pleasant greeting to keep up appearances! With more force than suitable for her played ease, Moira pushed the door open and walked up the stairs to the second floor. (The lack of an elevator was probably part of the understatement of this building.)  
  
Felicity waited for her mother-in-law in the opened door to her apartment. “Moira,” she said, calmly.  
  
“Felicity,” Moira answered.  
  
The younger woman stepped out of the way, gesturing for Moira to enter, pointing down the hall. “Thea’s in the living room.”  
  
Walking past her daughter-in-law without slowing down, Moira headed past walls painted in an off-white bordering on yellow. A huge mirror hung on the right wall, a chair next to it, jackets draped over it. The rug placed on white tiles dimmed the clicking of Moira’s heels. Her steps were fast, quickened by the annoyance at having to fly across the country in a rented private jet. The living room was colored in equally soft tones, and mismatched seats—one red, one green, adding more color than Moira believed reasonable—plus a huge, gray couch centered the room. The big windows let the afternoon summer sun in, even if the floaty drapes were closed, preventing curious eyes from looking in. Her daughter sat in the red seat, a magazine in hand, looking somewhat relieved to see her mother.  
  
“Thea,” Moira said, stopping a few steps away from her, “what were you thinking?”  
  
“I wanted to visit Felicity.” Thea’s voice was small. She bowed her head, causing her long, brunette hair to fall down, hiding her face. “I’m sorry if I made you worry.”  
  
There it was: the main sore spot. Moira brushed right past it. “Sweetheart, you can’t take the jet without my permission. You can’t just leave like that.”  
  
“I know. I’m sorry,” Thea mumbled, suddenly looking younger than her thirteen years, fumbling with the seam of her bright pink t-shirt. “But I knew if I asked if I could visit Felicity, you’d say ‘no.’”  
  
“Yes,” Moira confirmed. “I would have declined. For your own good. This isn’t an environment I want you subjected to.”  
  
Thea’s mumbled “I get it now” was barely audible.  
  
Moira glanced at her daughter. The girl was unusually quiet and subdued. Yesterday (Moira had agreed to let Thea stay the night with Felicity to hide the fact that Thea’s visit was neither scheduled nor welcome) seemed to have left an impression on her. _Good_ , her mother decided and felt like it was punishment enough.  
  
“We stayed in last night,” Felicity entered the conversation, standing a few steps behind her mother-in-law, “but I had an important class today. Thea accompanied me.”  
  
Moira had a pretty clear idea what that meant: the percentage of gossip involving her daughter would increase significantly in the next few days. Thank God, it was only temporary. If her reaction was any indication, Thea wouldn’t make a habit out of appearing in the gossip pages. Moira nodded more to herself than at Felicity’s last statement. At least her daughter was seen at a well-respected college with a family member. That was better than Oliver’s first tabloid-appearance, which involved too much alcohol and vomiting on a sidewalk at the age of sixteen.  
  
“We should get back to Starling,” Moira stated. “Pack your things.”  
  
Her brunette hair flowing behind her, the girl hurried out of the living room, smiling at Felicity in a slightly awkward manner.  
  
Slowly Moira turned around to face the woman legally married to her deceased son. Felicity Smoak. Moira preferred to think of herself as the only Mrs. Queen around. Even if, legally speaking, the woman meeting her gaze coldly was Felicity Queen—as unedifying as it was.  
  
Her beautiful boy always had a thing for girls below his own social standing.  
  
First, it had been that policeman’s daughter. How Laurel Lance had become part of her son’s group of friends when everybody else came from one of Starling City’s leading families was still a mystery to Moira Queen. But the mother had never minded that particular liaison. The Lance-girl knew her place, worshipped the ground Oliver walked on, and forgave his wandering eye (and hands).  
  
All were good qualities for a wife of a successful and powerful man. Moira knew; she had been married to a successful and powerful man—and she had often looked the other way.  
  
Moira Queen had made her peace with welcoming Laurel Lance into the family one day.  
  
And then her son had gone and married the daughter of a cocktail waitress and an absentee father.  
  
How was Moira supposed to make her peace with _that_?  
  
Turning Felicity into somebody worthy of carrying the last name ‘Queen’ had been a piece of work. Stylists, etiquette lessons, posing and posture training. All had been necessary, along with the constant reminder to _mind her words_. That girl had the unfortunate habit of rambling, which was unbecoming for anyone, most certainly for a Queen.  
  
But Moira had to admit that Felicity was handling the constant attention at MIT quite well. Until now there hadn’t been any photographs requiring damage control, nothing but Felicity going to class, walking across campus, getting coffee.  
  
The biggest fault the public found in her was the lack of a smile.  
  
For once, Moira couldn’t fault the girl. Felicity had lost her son 124 days ago. Moira had lost hers 320 days ago and she didn’t feel like smiling much either.  
  
Felicity looked tired, Moira noticed, but decided against questioning Felicity’s sleep patterns or reminding her that concealer was an easy way to hide dark shadows under tired eyes. Instead, she straightened up. “I apologize, Felicity. We’ll be out of your hair soon.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Moira. I didn’t mind Thea being here, but I think all the people staring freaked her out.” Felicity’s voice was even. “It can be a lot.”  
  
Matching her tone, Moira answered, “I can imagine.”  
  
The women looked at it each other for several long seconds. Moira contemplated complimenting Felicity’s blue dress to fill the silence. Her choice of wardrobe was appropriate, proof that Moira’s work had paid off. Even if the black cardigan she wore with it was too casual for Moira’s taste, the outfit fit a college student, Moira supposed.  
  
The Queen matriarch also approved of Felicity’s new hair color. The blonde suited her. She had dyed it after burying Jonas. Moira sensed the life change coming with the different hair color and could accept that thinking, as well as the outcome. It wasn’t a cheap whorish blonde (in fact Felicity’s color was very similar to Moira’s own) and it made Felicity’s blue eyes pop.  
  
Many things could be said about Moira’s late son, but he knew how to pick beautiful girls.  
  
“Oh,” Felicity cut into Moira’s thoughts, “I got a letter from a lawyer I’d like you to have a look at. I planned on scanning and emailing it to you, but since you are here….” She turned around and headed into the adjoining room.  
  
Moira followed her just as Thea returned with her packed bag, Yves Saint Laurent’s initials freckled all over the brown leather. “A lawyer?” Moira asked, entering the huge kitchen. It was spotless in a way that it looked unused. There was a huge table by the window, filled with computer parts of some kind, wires, and tools. Her daughter-in-law was into technology. Moira couldn’t even start fathoming that fascination and had elected to ignore it. The interest felt unbecoming for a woman, but part of Moira simultaneously rejected that thought.  
  
Moira Queen would never consider herself a feminist, but she could appreciate Felicity being a smart woman—although that realization had been unexpected. It was something to be wary of. The negotiations drawing up the contract to regularize Felicity’s integration (and that of the baby they had all been expecting) into the Queen family, settling rights and duties of each party, had shown Moira that Felicity was more than a pretty face. She was a quick-thinking young woman and not as easily bullied as Moira had expected her to be.  
  
Not the ideal daughter-in-law, in Moira’s opinion.  
  
Felicity picked an envelope out of a stack of mail resting on the kitchen counter. “Somebody I don’t know claims that I punched her at a party last week.”  
  
Moira huffed, reaching for the envelope. “Let me guess, he wants damages for his pain and suffering.”  
  
“She. And—yes—she wants money.” Felicity shifted her weight uneasily on her naked feet. “I’ve never punched anybody, ever. Okay, once I slapped that guy that thought it was okay to grab my ass while I waited in line for coffee, but that could count as self-defense. Plus, my hand hurt, too. I might need take up self-defense, working on protecting myself. … In physical situations. … Not sexual. Even though, I’m planning on becoming better with using protecting in that sense, too, after—” Felicity bit her lip to top talking.  
  
Moira appreciated that greatly. She had told the girl many times to think before she talks, to speak slower, to enunciate better. Why did Moira even bother? It felt like a lost cause. She sighed, disappointed.  
  
The sound made Felicity gather herself. She swallowed and said, slower this time, “I wasn’t even at that party.”  
  
Moira nodded. People trying to make money with untenable accusations was a regular occurrence for Queens. She scanned the letter and her eyes lit upon the number in the middle. “One million dollars.”  
  
“I know,” Felicity threw her hands up. “It’s outrageous.”  
  
Actually, it was a comparatively small amount. Girls claiming to be pregnant with Oliver’s baby had mostly demanded ten times as much—girls claiming to be pregnant with Oliver’s baby, excluding Felicity. Moira folded the letter back up. “I’ll pass it on to our lawyers. It will be handled.”  
  
“Thank you, I—” The ringing of the doorbell startled Felicity, her posture tightened, a certain suspicion crept into the younger woman’s voice. “I’m not expecting anybody.” She hesitated before leaving the kitchen.  
  
Moira slowly followed her, putting the letter into her purse still resting in the crook of her elbow. Thea waited in the living room. Moira scanned her daughter, “Are you ready to leave?”  
  
Thea nodded. She glanced down the hall where Felicity was talking into the door’s speaker. “Mom,” Thea whispered, “people _hate_ Felicity. It’s awful.”  
  
Moira sensed that her daughter needed assurance. “Felicity’s strong,” she dismissed, “She can handle it.” Thea didn’t look convinced but ready to leave the apartment, Cambridge, and everything it entailed. Moira placed her hand on the young girl’s shoulder, leading her down the hall to the door. “Don’t worry,” she told her daughter, “Felicity knows she can always come to us. She just asked me for help and I offered her our resources.” They took the last steps just as Felicity pressed the buzzer and opened her apartment door. “Thank Felicity for having you,” Moira told her daughter.  
  
“Thanks for letting me stay.”  
  
“Of course!” Felicity glanced at Moira and by the look in the other woman’s eyes Moira knew she wouldn’t like what her daughter-in-law would say next. But Felicity had never cared too much about Moira’s (dis)approval. “You can come by any time you want. Just ask your mom first, okay?”  
  
Thea’s answer of “okay” sounded like a ‘most likely not’ to her mother. Her girl hugged Felicity, who pulled her closely to her body, whispering, “Thank you for coming.”  
  
They just let go when a young man appeared in the doorframe—all Moira could see were the ridiculous yellow pants he wore.  
  
“Yongtak,” Felicity greeted and there was a certain appreciating softness in her voice that Moira had never heard from her daughter-in-law.  
  
“Fe,” the man answered, “hey.” His eyes jumped to the two other Queens present. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”  
  
“Not at all,” Moira said, not in the mood to prolong this unnecessarily, even if it wasn’t the best manners. “We were just leaving.” She placed her hand on Thea’s shoulder, guiding her to the door. “Felicity, I or a lawyer will contact you soon.”  
  
“Yes, thank you.”  
  
“Goodbye, Felicity.”  
  
Thea added her own “bye” and with one last nod to this Yongtak, mother and daughter left the apartment and headed down the stairs. From above them Moira heard the strange man say, “Man, Fe, I thought of the perfect first sentence to break the ice, but now I gotta tell you: you’re rocking the blonde hair like nobody’s business.”  
  
A chuckle followed and a breathed, “God, Tak, I missed you.” The door shut above them.  
  
“See,” Moira said, glancing down at her daughter walking next to her. “Felicity is going to be fine.” Because, really, beyond handling unfounded lawsuits to clear the family name, Moira Queen couldn’t worry about that woman. She had more than enough to worry about already. 


	2. August 17th, 2013

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wonderful people, thank you for all the love you’re sending my way. It’s a pleasure and I’m honestly excited that you enjoy the unfamiliar point of view that’s looking through Moira’s eyes. I hope the second part connects all the dots and brings things full circle. Love, Jules
> 
> Dedicated to **perckious**. She wanted character-growth—and it grew into this. I hope you still enjoy it. Thank you for the inspiration.
> 
> And a huge thank you to **Albiona** for… everything.
> 
>  
> 
> [ _Edit: I only just noticed that the last bit of the chapter was cut off. I don't know how that happened. I'm sorry. I fixed it._ ]

**  
**  
**August 17 th, 2013**  
  
Moira Queen firmly believed that being in prison didn’t mean you had to neglect your appearance.  
  
Sadly, tweezers were considered a deadly weapon.  
  
(A very founded belief as Moira had found out last week, witnessing the woman called ‘Kamikaze’ ram a pencil into Lil Bee’s neck. The petite woman had only been in her early twenties and she had bled out on the cold floor of Starling City’s Women Penitentiary located on the outskirts of the exact part of town Moira Queen had helped destroy.)  
  
A mirror was considered equally dangerous. But, running her index finger over the spot above her nose, Moira could feel how desperately her eyebrows were in need of grooming. It might only be a few hairs, but they were unacceptable to Moira Queen. She had been putting it off, but it appeared she didn’t have a choice—she had to visit the cell near the common room housing the—for lack of a better word—salon. The woman in charge had been a hairdresser before getting sentenced to twenty years for selling weapons under the counter.  
  
Moira knew that focusing on her overgrowing eyebrows and the horrible roots she saw every morning, standing in the common bathroom with sixteen other inmates and three guards to keep her company, was petty.  
  
But it was a better thing to focus on than the fact that her trial was coming up next month and that her lawyer, Jean Loring, had only barely managed to keep Starling City’s District Attorney from seeking the death penalty.  
  
Thinking about that gave Moira a headache testing her composure.  
  
Running her fingers over her temples, Moira sighed and placed her full attention on the skin under her fingertips. It was horribly dry. Prison soap did nothing for her complexion.  
  
A hard thud against the heavy metal door of her cell made her flinch. Bringing her hand to her chest where her heart raced from the startled shock, Moira only knew who was on the other side. Dexter always had the habit of announcing his arrival by kicking the door. Moira Queen detested the man who was probably a stooge outside of these walls, but reveled in the little power he had inside them.  
  
Straightening her posture, sitting on her cot with her legs neatly folded, Moira Queen turned to look at the door as the hatch in it was slid open. “Queen!” Dexter barked as if anybody else could have been in Moira’s single cell, “You have visitors.”  
  
Wordlessly, Moira stood, took the two steps to the door, turned around, and placed her hands through the opened hatch. She knew the drill; it was an automatism by now. Dexter put the handcuffs around her wrists. The imbecile always closed them too tightly on purpose, probably to show Moira her place.  
  
Her head held high, her back perfectly straight, she waited for him to finally unlock the door to her cell, not showing any reaction to the metal hurting her. Moira Queen had dealt with worse men than this prison guard. Never would she let him rattle her.  
  
Moira Queen didn’t have much left, but she had her dignity.  
  
Her fellow inmates (with whom she reduced interaction to the unavoidable minimum, because even though the Queen matriarch would never show it, most of those women petrified her) had called her ‘Princess’ first, a nickname earned during Moira’s first visit to the mess hall. The _stuff_ (and Moira used that word she normally avoided very deliberately in this case) that had been splashed onto her tray officially labeled ‘mashed potatoes’ had without any doubt never been in the proximity of anything resembling a potato. Moira had informed the inmate assigned for kitchen duty about false advertising and her refusal to eat that _stuff_.  
  
She had been Princess after that.  
  
She had turned into ‘Queen’ when she had made Oliver donate a reasonable sum to Starling City’s Women Penitentiary for the clear purpose of improving its catering.  
  
If Moira had to spend twenty-five to life in this place, she wanted at least some basic necessities—and one of those was food that wasn’t all instant. And some fruit. Greens with actual vitamins in them.  
  
Maybe Moira could also donate something to improve the ‘salon.’ Even though, she probably should give the woman a chance first. Fairness and all that.  
  
The white slip-on sneakers (without shoelaces that could be used to strangle somebody else or oneself) didn’t make any sound, but the orange jumpsuit (the color did nothing for Moira’s complexion) rustled as she moved. She had rolled up the sleeves of the foul-colored atrocity, opened the top two buttons to create something that resembled cleavage. It was a shot at individuality in this uniformed environment, the kind that many of her fellow inmates equally craved. (Viper—a heavily tattooed woman that had displayed a baffling protectiveness toward Moira—had gone as far as ripping the sleeves off entirely. That particular attempt at individualism hadn’t been received too well by the quartermaster.)  
  
Moira led the way, Dexter following behind. She knew the way to the visitor’s room perfectly. Oliver had come to see her on Wednesday. He came at least once a week, checking on her, asking how she was, listening—but he was also talking to her, telling his mother about things going on in his life: the wedding-planning, the plan to rebuild the free clinic, the cooking lessons he got from his housekeeper since Felicity had taken over Queen Consolidated (apparently, Felicity’s cooking had improved immensely since Thanksgiving). Moira treasured each visit because she was finally talking to her son, getting to know the wonderful man he had become, a better man than she dared to hope for ten years ago.  
  
For the first time since her beautiful boy returned to Starling City, Moira had had real conversations with him.  
  
The perfection was dimmed by the cold, dark visiting room, but Moira held every single one dear. They helped her get through this torment she knew she deserved. The prospect of seeing her son twice this week quickened her steps. Impatiently, she waited while Dexter unlocked the door to the visitation room. Finally, he pushed it open, directing a sharp “In!” at Moira who didn’t need to be told twice. Stepping into the room, she immediately scanned it for her handsome son, turning her back to the guard, and—blinked, surprised. Oliver wasn’t waiting for her.  
  
A smile lit up Moira’s face. Happiness sloshed through her, bringing joyous tears to her eyes as Dexter finally freed her from the handcuffs. “Thea,” she breathed, focusing on one of the two women there to visit her, and walked to her daughter, opening her arms, forgetting the situation and her surroundings as Thea rushed to meet her.  
  
“No touching!” Their situation and surroundings crashed down on Moira in the form of Dexter’s barked command.  
  
It froze Thea to the spot. Moira stopped, too, one step away from her daughter, and let her arms sink.  
  
“We agreed to a search,” Felicity said calmly from behind Thea. “I have the document right here.” Her heels clicked on the hard ground and Moira couldn’t help the surge of pride and affection racing through her at her daughter-in-law’s poise.  
  
It was hard to remember the insecure brunette trembling in the offices of the Queen family’s lawyers. That girl bore little resemblance to the woman of today.  
  
During that first meeting Moira had believed Felicity to be like cattle, easily steered. Rarely had Moira been so wrong in her assessment of a person’s character. Felicity had shed the innocence quickly and risen to the challenge presented to her. She had continued to do so, time and time again dealing with obstacles and un-pleasantries, becoming a woman worthy of carrying the Queen name.  
  
Moira had accepted that years ago. But only during the previous year had Moira come to recognize what her Oliver obviously saw in Felicity. She could understand why he loved her so much. And her son was hopelessly in love with that woman who Moira would have never picked for him, but who had turned out to be the perfect fit—for him and for this family.  
  
Moira saw Dexter hesitate before taking the document Felicity held out to him. Felicity Queen was a powerful woman, well-connected in Starling City. Unlike Moira Queen, who had lost her status, a complaint by the acting CEO of Queen Consolidated could complicate Dexter’s life. Moira couldn’t help the secret joy rushing through her at witnessing this scene.  
  
“Fine,” Dexter gave in quickly, trying to keep his authority by speaking gruffly but only managing to sound huffy. “But limit the displays of physical affection.”  
  
Moira pulled Thea into her arms, hugged her daughter tightly. She hadn’t seen her at all in four months since taking her to rehab. “My precious girl,” Moira breathed into Thea’s hair and let go before Dexter could interfere with the perfect moment.  
  
“Hey, mom,” Thea smiled.  
  
“Let me look at you,” the mother said, her voice wavering with emotion. She smiled as her eyes roamed her daughter. Thea looked better than she had in months. She looked sober, relaxed. Her eyes were awake and sparkling despite the tears pooling in them. She had gained some weight, her face not as boney anymore, making her look healthier. Healthy and happy—the best two adjectives to describe a member of the Queen family. “You look well,” Moira said and felt the need to check, “Are you?”  
  
“I am,” Thea assured, reaching for her mother’s hand to squeeze it, affectionately, “I’m real good.”  
  
Moira fought down the urge to correct her daughter’s grammar, instead she squeezed back before gesturing for her two visitors to sit down on the opposite site of the metal table. “I like your hair,” she told her daughter. “It suits you.”  
  
Thea, sinking down on a metal seat also attached to the floor, moved a hand though her brunette locks, the curls only reaching her shoulders. “Thanks,” she said, “I needed a change.”  
  
“Well, I yet have to visit the salon of this establishment,” Moira said casually and finally realized her own lacking manners. “Felicity,” she hurried to say, “I’m sorry. It’s good to see you, too. I’m glad you came by…” she hesitated, remembrance setting in, “but with the ongoing investigation, you shouldn’t be here.”  
  
Moira was serious about that. Felicity buying _Unidac Industries_ had sparked a thorough investigation of a possible involvement with the Undertaking. Oliver had assured his mother that until now there weren’t any hints that the investigation had dug up anything relevant for jurisdiction, but Moira didn’t want her daughter-in-law take any risks. Meeting with Moira might end up looking suspicious when there wasn’t anything to be suspicious about. Felicity was innocent. Moira Queen had hurt enough innocent people with her actions, the thought of dragging down a member of her family, which she had scrambled to protect for years, was unbearable to Moira. Felicity had lost more than enough already, Moira would do anything to make sure she didn’t lose her freedom, too.  
  
Felicity smiled. “My lawyer said I could risk it and… I wanted to see how you were doing.” She hesitated before adding, “I wanted to see you before the wedding.”  
  
“Felicity chose a killer dress,” Thea gushed. She slapped the other woman’s shoulder in excitement. “Show mom the picture.”  
  
“Thea,” Felicity said, “I think your mom wants to know how you’re doing first.”  
  
“I told her, I’m good.” Thea dismissed, playfully.  
  
The casualness of the moment turned Moira’s heart lighter. She chose to follow her daughter’s lead, her daughter who was so giddy, but in an innocent and natural way that was distinctively different from the giddiness created by narcotics. “No, please,” she stated. “I’d love to see your dress.”  
  
Inhaling deeply, Felicity reached for the envelope Moira had noticed in her daughter-in-law’s hand. Casting a quick look at Dexter to let him see what she was doing, Felicity handed a photo across the table.  
  
“We took the picture this morning, so we could show you,” Thea explained. “Ollie had to go to a house committee meeting. They threated to sue him if he didn’t finally show up. So, we took advantage of the opportunity.” Honest excitement wavered around her. Normally, Moira would have chided her daughter to keep her voice down, but seeing her girl like that was too heartwarming to stop it.  
  
With a smile, Moira glanced at the picture. The smile faltered for a second before growing again, turning bigger than before. “That is a stunning dress,” she complimented, not taking her eyes off the photo, meaning each word. Moira should have known that her daughter-in-law wouldn’t wear white. She had never been a traditional bride (in every sense). The dress was more playful, less tailored than Moira would have expected, more daring than Moira would have picked for a wedding, but Felicity did look amazing wearing it—and Moira could sense the special meaning coming with it. Forcing a blank expression to her face, she met the blonde woman’s eyes. “Green?”  
  
The women looked at each other for a few long moments, Moira noticing instantly that her expression hadn’t been as blank, her question as harmless as she had believed. Understanding sparked in Felicity’s gaze. “It’s Oliver’s favorite color,” she stated.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I’ve had a feeling you do.”  
  
Moira should have known that Felicity had been suspicious. She was a very smart and perceptive woman, able to put two and two together.  
  
And so was Moira.  
  
Since the day of the Undertaking, since her son had stormed toward her in front of the mansion, demanding to talk to her, demanding she told him everything she knew, claiming he would stop the Undertaking at all costs, things Moira had noticed before had clicked into place. The Hood had been the one to stop Malcolm Merlyn. Her son was the man underneath the hood, the _green_ hood. The barely there doubts Moira had made herself harbor dissolved the instant she saw her daughter-in-law in that distinctive color. It was hardly subtle.  
  
“Wow,” Thea said, breathless, “we all know.”  
  
That startled Moira. Her eyes snapped to her daughter, unsure how she felt about that particular revelation. But Moira knew she wasn’t ready for a confrontation, didn’t want to snap at Felicity for not sparing the impressionable young woman from the obvious dangers that came with everything involving The Hood. She couldn’t bring herself to do that during her first meeting with Thea in months. Moira decided to let it slide, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “Please, tell Oliver I approve of his favorite color.”  
  
“I will,” Felicity promised, adding after a moment of hesitation, “after the wedding. Because, you know, I don’t want to spoil the dress. It’s a little silly, I guess. Since it’s not really a wedding but only a renewal of vows. But our Vegas-wedding was kind of messy and I enjoy the do-over to do it right.” She flinched. “No _do it_ do it, obviously.”  
  
“Felicity,” Moira cut in, sparing the woman, wondering why Felicity believed anybody to have misinterpreted her statement while Thea smirked on the sidelines. “I won’t reveal the color of your dress to Oliver. I think he will enjoy the surprise.” She gestured to the picture lying in front of her. “Is this couture?”  
  
“Yes, Elie Saab. I saw it and knew it was the one.”  
  
“You will be a beautiful bride,” Moira complimented, meaning each word—even though she couldn’t help but add, “Even if the cleavage is very out there.”  
  
Felicity smirked. There was such clear amusement and a hint of ‘I knew you’d say that’ lurking in her expression that Mora couldn’t help but feel caught. Deciding the best cause of action was to switch topics, she focused on her daughter. “And what will you wear?”  
  
“I don’t know yet.” Thea shrugged. “Something. Whatever.”  
  
The dismissal felt strange coming from Thea Queen, who had always carefully planned her outfits. For her eighteenth birthday party, she had originally scheduled three wardrobe changes—although the last one had never happened because Thea had gotten high and behind the wheel of her new car. The flash of heat shooting through Moira at that thought brought along the realization that she preferred her daughter not caring about fashion as much. The mother smiled proudly while her daughter continued, “But I’ll go tux-shopping with Ollie and his best man John on Monday.”  
  
“He doesn’t have his tux yet?” The smile vanished from Moira’s face. Instead, she stared at Felicity, consternated. “Felicity! The wedding is in _ten days_.”  
  
“I know,” Felicity said, unfazed, letting the accusation drip off her like lukewarm water. “But I wanted Thea to go with him to keep an eye on him. Don’t worry, he’ll get his tux in time and he’ll look amazing in it.” As an afterthought she added a mumbled, “The latter’s a given anyway.”  
  
Moira couldn’t find fault in that statement. Her boy was very handsome. His wife could appreciate his good looks—even if discussing it wasn’t exactly suitable in Moira’s opinion.  
  
“Thea,” she asked gently. “When did you get back to Starling?”  
  
“Roy and Ollie picked me up me yesterday. I live in Queen Tower now. That’s what the press calls Ollie’s building. I think that’s pretty awesome. We’ll go to the mansion when we leave here to get some of my stuff. I’m living in the guestroom.”  
  
“Not guestroom,” Felicity corrected, “ _your_ room.” She looked at her mother-in-law, “Thea chose Oliver as her guardian.”  
  
“That—” Moira’s voice broke. She started anew, powering through the five words. “That is good to hear.”  
  
And it was—still, the information rose ambiguous feelings in the oldest Queen woman. Thea staying with Oliver and Felicity was a good thing. Moira was happy and grateful that they were taking care of Thea, giving her a home and support. Moira knew that Felicity had started becoming Thea’s confident long before the girl had opened up to her brother. She hadn’t really opened up to Moira at all. (Although—in all fairness—her mother being in prison had limited Thea’s chances to do so.) Moira was grateful Felicity stepped up like that, acted where Moira herself couldn’t, took responsibility for somebody she wasn’t really responsible for.  
  
Moira wished she could do that herself, help her daughter build a better life for herself, a hopeful future in sobriety. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t hug her daughter without armed supervision, couldn’t witness her son’s marriage. All she could do was listen to the glimpses her loved ones granted her when they visited. She was reduced to being a bystander, on the outskirts of her children’s lives.  
  
Thea was packing up her things, moving out of her childhood home, Queen Mansion, to move in with her new guardians, into Queen Tower, to live with people who would take better care of her than her mother had in the last six years.  
  
Never had Moira Queen felt that she deserved being locked away more.  
  
“Mom,” Thea said softly, “don’t cry.”  
  
Moira was trying not to, struggling, actually. The uncounted emotions crashing through her clogged her throat and she hated being this emotional in such a public setting. That had always been true, but a new dimension was added by the fact that they were in meeting room in prison. Moira had always fought not to be looked at as weak—but showing weakness was even more dangerous here.  
  
“Have you turned your toothbrush into a knife yet?”  
  
Felicity’s casual question was so startling that Moira couldn’t do anything but stare at her, forgetting her struggle against her tears.  
  
“I’m just asking,” Felicity continued, “because when Lance arrested me, I made plans on how to survive in prison. Getting a tooth-brush knife was one of the first things on my to-do list.” She winked. “Oliver complimented my quick thinking.”  
  
Moira inhaled deeply, regaining control. She knew what her daughter-in-law was doing. Distracting Moira from her tears was typical Felicity. She was a special woman, deserving of a special man like her Oliver.  
  
“No, Felicity,” Moira finally answered, the returned calm audible in her voice. “I haven’t used my toothbrush for anything other than cleaning my teeth.”  
  
“That’s actually a relief,” Felicity said.  
  
“Yes.” Moira agreed and sent the woman opposite her a nod filled with thankfulness. She focused back on Thea. “I’m glad you’re living with Oliver and Felicity. They’ll take good care of you. I just wished there was something I could do.”  
  
“You already did.”  
  
“I… did?”  
  
“Yes,” Thea said, her voice turned softer, quieter. “I talked a lot about it with my shrink. About how… brave you were to step up like that. You did the right thing even though it was hard, and dangerous for you. That’s role model behavior.”  
  
Another lump collected in Moira’s throat. “You—” She swallowed to force the unshed tears down, but they still shook her voice. “You shouldn’t follow my footsteps.” She gestured around the cold, lifeless room. “Look where it will lead you.”  
  
“Well, yeah, sure.” Thea reached across the table to squeeze her mother’s hand. “Ollie told me some things about Merlyn last night and…. You must’ve been so scared. Merlyn was the devil—and you went up against him alone. I admire that. And you’re facing the consequences of your actions. So, yeah, I’m really proud of you.” Seeing the tears pooling in her mother’s eyes, she added, flippantly, “Yup, I turned into a Zen-master in rehab. Ask Felicity.”  


“It’s annoying,” Felicity stated flatly. “All that wisdom in an eighteen-year-old. Because, you know, I was twenty when I got drunk and married in Vegas…. But I guess Thea already made her drunken mistakes at fifteen.”  
  
“Ha ha,” Thea said mockingly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes.  
  
Moira looked at the two woman opposite her, her daughter and her daughter-in-law, and all she could think was that she was glad those two carried the Queen name. Not because they were worthy heirs, but because they were family, her family.  
  
“Oh, Moira,” Felicity said as if only just remembering something. “We brought some beauty products, your night crème and your eye balm. We had to hand it over to the guards. I don’t know what they want to do with it—probably check for explosives or something. If they don’t give it to you in the next few days, ask the guards—or tell me. I’ll go full Felicity Queen on them.”  
  
Yet another wave of affection raced through Moira. “Thank you, Felicity. It’s most appreciated.”  
  
“Well,” Felicity tilted her head, “being in prison isn’t an excuse for letting yourself go.”  
  
Moira recognized her own quote being used against her, but didn’t mind. She still stood by that statement. “That is true,” she confirmed, earning two knowing smiles. “We are Queens, dears, and it takes a lot to live up to that name.”  
  
Fondness and sincerity filled her gazed as her eyes wandered from Thea to Felicity and back, “Luckily, we manage that effortlessly.”


End file.
